Verse 25
From orbit I searched for my country and found weather.
From orbit I searched for my country and found weather.
I searched for the border and found a river ignoring it.
I searched for the capital and found a patch of light too small to name.
Distance does not make humanity wise. It only removes some of the labels.
The oceans looked calm because I was too far away to see anyone drowning.
The deserts looked empty because I was too far away to see anyone walking.
Beauty from orbit is partly an optical failure of compassion.
Still, I pressed my face to the glass like a child.
Earth was not majestic because it was large. Jupiter had cured me of that measure.
It was majestic because every grave I knew was on it.
Every kitchen smell, every bad song from a neighbor’s window, every hospital corridor, every cat sleeping on a car hood—there.
Space contains more room than anyone could want and almost nowhere to put a chair.
When reentry fire covered the window, I understood home as the place capable of killing you in familiar ways.
I kissed the ground after landing, then laughed because the ground had never noticed I left.